


The Flower's A Lie

by cactusmori



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Angst, Hanahaki Disease, M/M, i have a basic outline so let's just see where this goes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:20:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24670720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cactusmori/pseuds/cactusmori
Summary: According to Donut, coughing up flowers means Wash loves somebody in the canyon. Wash thinks it's bullshit.
Relationships: Lavernius Tucker/Agent Washington
Comments: 7
Kudos: 37





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE: This fic contains lots of blood, drug usage, and small portions of smut (though they can be skipped without affecting the plot too much). Do not read if any of this upsets you.

Another day began in the makeshift base in the middle of a box canyon in the middle of nowhere with no communication whatsoever. And another day of having to wake up Tucker for drills. And another day of having to repeat the same sentence to the aqua solder.

“For the love of God, Tucker, stop sleeping naked.” Wash had said that line so many times he may as well record it and put it on a timed loop for the other soldier.

“You’re the only one coming for a piece of this, Wash.” Tucker retorted with a smirk on his face. “Why try to hide what you’re so desperately searching for?” Each word that came out of his mouth made Wash’s chest tighten. He had grown used to the feeling ever since the ship crashed, trying his best to ignore the fact the ache worsened every day.

Fully processing what Tucker had said, Wash realized he hadn’t responded. His face flushed. “That’s not- I wasn’t- I-” He sputtered, causing his face to heat up further. Tucker noticed this, the smirk on his face going against what was seemingly impossible and continuing to grow.

“Suuuure, Wash. Whatever you say.” Tucker sat up and stretched. The sheet that covered him was only a few inches away from exposing his… Wash quickly drew his gaze away.

“I expect you out on the field no more than 10 minutes from now, Private. Five laps around the canyon.” Wash walked out of the room, shutting the door to muffle the aqua soldier’s groans. Wash passed Caboose leaving his room in his regulation blue armor. The tall soldier had his helmet on, but Wash could tell he was tired. Still cheery, as per usual, just tired.

“Hey, Caboose,” Wash stopped the private in the hallway, “Why don’t you take Freckles and try some shooting pra- I mean, go outside and… play with Freckles.” He realized how much of a dumbass he would have been if he said “shooting practice.” Somebody would end up dead. If not, everybody in the canyon would end up dead.

“Well, Agent Washingtub, I was actually wondering if you would come and play with me and Freckles today. I mean, Freckles is my new best friend but I think it’d be more fun if we had someone else to play with.” Caboose said in his usually cheery voice. Wash normally trained with the two soldiers separately. Tucker would be first, and Caboose would “play” with Freckles until it was his turn for training.

“I think that can be arranged. I’ll meet you in the field in five, and Tucker needs some time to get ready.” Wash answered.

“Five… laps? Okay, Agent Washingtub!” Caboose ran out of the base, yelling for Freckles.

Well, at least one soldier held enthusiasm for drills.

Wash suddenly felt too… naked. Exposed. He only had his undersuit on, no armor or helmet. He didn’t even have any weapons on him. Subconsciously he was comfortable enough to walk around without his armor. Since when was he so comfortable with the simulation troopers? Without a second thought he was back in his room, putting his armor on. He held his helmet in his hands, staring at his reflection in the visor before hesitantly putting it on his head.

The ache in his chest worsened, and it felt like there was a weight in his lungs, but he ignored the feeling and headed out of base after Caboose, who had been talking to Freckles.

“Agent Washingtub, Agent Washingtub! I ran five laps like you asked!” Caboose turned his head excitedly towards Wash, proud of his work despite having done it daily for a few months now.

“How did you do them so quickly?” He realized the ignorance of his question as soon as it passed through his lips. “Nevermind. As soon as Tucker comes out, we can start with some squats.”

Roughly three minutes later, Tucker came out of their makeshift base, carrying his helmet on his hip. His wide smirk from earlier had vanished, and he let out a yawn before unceremoniously dropping his helmet on his head.

“So, what kind of hell are you putting us through today, Wash?” Tucker asked as he came by.

“Starting with 100 squats. Go.” Caboose immediately dropped to start, but Tucker let out a groan before complying.

“Hey Wash, you ever thought of being a police officer?” Tucker asked between grunts. “They basically torture people for a living.”

Wash’s throat tightened. “150 squats then.”

“Fuck you. In more ways than one.” Tucker hissed.

By the time they had finished training, Wash felt like puking his guts out. He had a throbbing headache, the pain in his chest had become unbearable, and the weight in his lungs had become much heavier. His throat was tight and he had to try to hide his rasping when he spoke.

"Great work, Soldiers." Wash wanted to rip off his helmet and vomit right then and there, but he knew he could hold it a bit longer. "That's enough training for today."

"Fucking finally!" Tucker took his helmet off and threw it to the ground.

"You don't seem to care for that highly advanced and expensive military-issued armor." Wash pointed out.

"Yeah, no shit." The aqua soldier abandoned his helmet as he headed back into their base. "Nobody bother me, I have things I need to do."

"Come on Freckles, let's go play catch!" Caboose ran off, the mantis following him, causing the ground to shake with each step it took.

And Wash? He ungraciously wobbled to the blue team's bathroom, not bothering to close the door. He ripped off his helmet, followed by about half his armor before he couldn't take it and hunched over the toilet bowl, retching and gagging. It didn't feel like anything was coming up, as if it were stuck in the back of his throat and refused to come out despite it wanting to. It got to the point where Wash couldn't breathe, choking on whatever was in his throat. He continuously tried to force it out, pressing his stomach against the toilet as if performing the heimlich removal on himself, even resorting to trying to pull out whatever it was using his fingers. His vision blurred and there were dark circles threatening to close in on him, to leave him in complete and utter darkness.

But mercifully, or lack thereof, the thing lodged in his throat finally decided to claw its way out, but not without splatters of blood, saliva, and mucus. Wash barely had any time to catch his breath and regain his vision when he was violently hacking again, coughing up more blood into the toilet- and the floor, and his hands, and the armor that remained on his body. The pain was unbearable, to the point he wasn’t sure if the dark circles returned due to lack of oxygen or from the pain itself.

Wash had lost track of time- how long had it been? A minute? Ten minutes? Half an hour? He didn’t know, but he knew it had been going on for a while now. He hadn’t cared. The only thing he focused on was the pain- the agonizing, excruciating pain that overtook his chest, lungs, and throat. It felt as if there were a physical creature clawing its way from his stomach to his mouth and trying to escape.

The only thing that drew his attention away from the pain was a knock on the door- which was still open, so why would the person at the door need to knock.

“Dude, can you shut the fuck up? I’m trying to- HOLY SHIT!” Tucker’s voice rang in the small room.

Wash didn’t respond. He couldn’t. The only thing he could do was look up at the simulation trooper, the pain worsening as their eyes met.

Wash finally stopped hacking, taking in as much air as he possibly could.

“Tucker, I- I’m fine, don’t… worry.” That was an obvious lie. Wash was clearly not fine. He wasn’t anywhere near fine.

“That is complete bullshit dude, it looks like you threw up everything inside of you! You need medical treatment, right fucking now. Where the fuck is Doc?” Tucker took Wash’s helmet in an attempt to radio the others.

“Doc’s… been missing, Tucker, and the com tower’s still broken.” Wash barely even rasped that sentence out. It was closer to a gentle breath than an actual sentence.

“Well, what the fuck are we supposed to do? I can’t just leave you like this!”

“ _Tucker,_ ” Wash tried to say it as sternly as possible despite the rasp in his voice, “I’m fine. I’m alive, aren’t I? That’s what matters.”

“You aren’t fucking fine.” Tucker dropped Wash’s helmet. He opened his jaw to say something else, but stormed out of the bathroom in… anger? Frustration? Wash wasn’t sure.

So, with Tucker gone, he turned his attention to the mess in front of him. Blood outlined the toilet seat and the bowl, trailing across the floor and creating a small pool of the crimson liquid. It dripped from his mouth onto his undersuit and armor, and coated his hands, which gripped the edges of the seat as if letting go would cause an immediate, painful death. The weight in his lungs had dulled, but only slightly.

Wash grabbed a nearby washcloth and began to wipe away the blood- realizing he made a poor decision, he was only smearing the metallic-scented fluid. He stood and washed the cloth in the sink, watching as the water turned red from the blood. Going back to smearing the blood, since there wasn’t any other way for him to clean the mess, he noticed something… peculiar. Something he should have noticed much sooner, but somehow didn’t.

There was something white in the blood- well, more like multiple white things scattered on the floor and flooding the toilet- that definitely wasn’t anything he had eaten earlier. Dropping the cloth, he picked it up, feeling that it was soft to the touch.

“What the…” Wash muttered to himself as he inspected the thing.

And realization hit him like a truck.

It was a fucking flower petal.

* * *

“Stop it right there, dirty Blue!” Wash found himself face-to-face with the end of a shotgun.

“Sarge, please don’t mess around. I need to see Donut.” Since Doc had been missing, and Donut had been close to the medic, he figured Donut may know something about his little petal problem.

“You're planning to torture him for information, aren’t you?” Sarge accused. “I know how you treat your men, but Donut’ll never talk!”

“What? No! I just need to talk to him about… something.” Wash clenched the blood-stained petals he had brought with him in his fist. It was a subconscious action, but he didn’t exactly _want_ Sarge to see the things.

“Oh, really? Does that something involve seasonal attire and home decoration?” Sarge lowered his shotgun. Wash was fed up with his shit.

“Yes. I would like to talk to him about… that.” Wash answered. Sarge said nothing, perhaps out of shock, and turned towards Red Base.

“Donut!” Sarge yelled. “Agent Washington wants to discuss some things with you!”

It didn’t take long for the soldier in pink armor to come running towards the two. “Hey, Wash! What did you want to talk about?” The sim trooper sounded almost as cheery as Caboose. Almost.

“Donut, I need- Just, follow me.” Wash started to turn the other direction. “This needs to be in private.” He checked behind him to make sure Donut was following him and, surely enough, he was. Sarge made some snarky, unintelligible comment, but neither of them paid attention to it.

Wash didn’t even pay attention to where he was walking. Didn’t pay attention to how far, what was around them, anything. Too many thoughts were racing in his mind.

_This is a bad idea. I should be speaking to a medical professional, not… Donut. Would he even understand? Wouldn’t it be better to talk to somebody with common sense? Oh, who am I kidding? Nobody in the canyon has that. It's not too late to just-_

“Wash?” Donut put a hand on his shoulder. Wash was about to fall into a pool of water.

“Oh.” Was all he said in response.

“Wash, are you feeling alright?” Donut sounded genuinely curious, rather than just asking out of kindness. Feeling obligated to give the other soldier some respect, he took off his helmet.

“Donut, you… you and Doc were close, right?” Wash asked, not noticing that Donut had also taken off his helmet.

“Of course!” Donut smiled for a reason beyond Wash’s understanding.

“Okay, well, maybe you would know something about… well…” Wash trailed off. Why did he think Donut would be able to help?

“Wash, I can’t help you unless you talk.” Donut’s smile withdrew into a frown. Wash simply sighed and held out his hand with the white, bloodied petals.

“These… I coughed these up, Donut, I know you probably think I’m insane since this isn’t physically possible-”

“Wash,” Donut cut him off, “That flower is poisonous! And you said you coughed it up? Consider yourself lucky!”

“Poison? What-” Wash suddenly felt uneasy; flower petals had somehow wound up inside of him, and on top of that, they were poisonous?

“Yes! You didn’t swallow any seeds, did you?” Donut took off a glove and put the back of his hand to Wash’s forehead, as if checking for a fever.

“Donut, I was coughing it up, not eating a plant- I don’t know how it got inside of me in the first place!” He took a step back, focusing on Donut’s worried expression.

“Coughing it up?” Donut repeated. He paused for a long moment, long enough to make Wash even more uneasy, until he finally spoke again. “Hanahaki disease.”

“What?”

“Hanahaki disease! It’s caused by feelings of unrequited love! Something about it causes a garden to grow in the patient’s lungs!”

“What- but I don’t have… feelings of… I don’t love anybody! Or, well, I do, just not in that way, or…” Wash put his helmet back on.

“And the flower you’re choking on couldn’t fit better. The Sacred Datura is not only poisonous, but a symbol of denial!” Donut gripped Wash’s shoulders. “Wash, you love somebody. Cough it up. Who is it?”

“Donut, I told you, it isn’t anybody. I care for the safety and well-being of everybody in this canyon, and believe there to be a mutual trust between each of us, but I don’t… ‘love’ anybody here. It’s all platonic.”

“Then how do you explain this?” Donut lifted Wash’s hand that held the petals. “Did you simply choke on a flower you ate? I wouldn’t expect that from you of all people, Wash.”

“Well… maybe it’s not actually a flower?” Wash didn’t sound sure of himself.

“Wash, you have to get whoever it is that you love to love you back soon or you’ll die.” Wash had never seen Donut so serious. “You could get surgery to have the flowers removed, but that would also remove your ability to love anybody anymore. Besides, we don’t have any way to contact a surgeon.”

Wash was silent. He was going to die if he didn’t get somebody to love him, and he didn’t even know who that somebody was meant to be?

“Normally you’d have at least a few months, but the poison from the flower can leave you in a coma! If the Hanahaki doesn’t get you, the poison will.” Donut let go of Wash’s shoulders and stepped back, putting his helmet back on his head. “If you don’t seduce your crush soon, you’re a goner, Wash.” And he walked away, head hanging low and Wash staring after him.

Seducing somebody in this canyon- no, not seducing, it doesn’t have to end in sex. Emotional manipulation? He didn’t love anybody, so it could be called that. But he didn’t want to hurt any of his friends… but his death would hurt them anyway.

Neither option was preferable.

So he’d just have to wing it.

* * *

“Yo, dude.”

Wash was sitting at a table in their base, staring at one of the petals. Just like everything there, they had made a makeshift kitchen along with a table and a few chairs. It seemed pointless, considering they would have to abandon it if they were rescued, but it made the place feel less vacant.

“ _Wash._ ”

“Huh, what?” Wash picked his head up and looked around. To his right, he looked up to meet Tucker’s eyes.

“Hey, so, what was up with that whole coughing up your guts thing?” Tucker was out of armor, in civies, looking down at Wash. He was wearing an aqua tank top and blue skinny jeans.

“I told you, I’m fine.” Wash turned his attention back to the petal, thinking his face flushed a bit but was unsure. Was the flower’s poison finally kicking in?

“You didn’t look fine.” Tucker grabbed Wash’s chin and turned his head, forcing him to meet his gaze. He examined him for a bit before continuing. “You still don’t look fine. What’s your problem, man?”

“My problem is that you won’t take me seriously when I say I’m alright.” Wash moved his hand to cover the petal that was on the table. He panicked a bit when Tucker’s gaze moved to his hand.

“What are you hiding?” Tucker moved in closer, and Wash was sure his face had flushed now.

“I’ve nothing to hide. Why would I be hiding something?”

“Then you wouldn’t mind moving your hand?”

Wash tensed. He didn’t want to have to explain why he was trying to hide a petal of all things. Or why that petal was caked in blood. Reluctantly, he moved his hand, dragging the petal along with it and resting it on his lap.

“Show me your hand.” Tucker moved in closer again and Wash was ready to throw up right then and there. He felt sick, had a stomach ache, a tight throat, and damn when did it get so hot in there?

“You can see it right there.” Wash nodded towards his hand.

“Turn it over, god damn it.” Tucker hissed.

Why did Tucker care so much? It wasn’t like Wash was hiding anything big from him- actually, he was hiding his inevitable death from him so, yes, he was hiding something big from him- but Tucker didn't know that. But that’s why he was trying to push it. Because he wants to know.

Wash turned over his hand.

He may have been seeing things, but he could have sworn Tucker smirked slightly.

“Dude, all of that to hide a fucking petal?” His tone of voice betrayed his light smirk, he sounded furious.

“What were you expecting?” Wash asked.

“I don’t know, some weird shit technology that could kill any one of us in an instant or _literally anything else._ ” Tucker let go of his chin and stormed off, once again leaving Wash staring at a blank spot where somebody else once was.

And he broke into a coughing fit again.

Clutching his chest, he crouched down, hacking. He felt the same as he had the first time this had happened, earlier that day. Except this time it was much shorter, the petals and blood coming out much quicker and easier than before. But it was just as painful. That may have been the one thing he could rely on with these coughing fits.

When it was over the pain in his chest hadn’t lifted. If anything, it had worsened, feeling as if something were stepping as hard as it could on his chest. It was hard to breathe. The taste of blood lingered in his mouth and the scent filled his nose. It was awful. Despite there being less blood than before, there were definitely more petals.

So, he picked them up, keeping them in a compartment in his armor. Maybe they’d be of use later. If not, he could always just throw them out. If Wash were being honest, the petals weren’t his first priority at the moment. It was trying to figure out who he had to convince to love him so that he wouldn’t fucking die.

He didn’t think it was Caboose. Sure, he’d grown attached to the soldier in regulation blue, and admired his ability to stay positive in difficult situations (even if it was due to not understanding those situations.) But he hadn’t had any sort of romantic feelings for him- well, he didn’t think he had romantic feelings for any of the soldiers, but apparently he had.

Maybe it was Donut? He had gone to him for help in this situation in the first place. Then again, he had shot Donut. But that bullet had also brought them closer together, mostly because of the guilt Wash felt. Plus there was the fact they were on opposite te- no, sides of the canyon. They were all working as one. Just in color divided teams and full body armor.

He thought of Tucker, but immediately overruled him. They had been fighting, bickering, and arguing with each other recently more than any other soldier in the canyon. And even if Wash couldn’t help but stare at the aqua soldier’s deep, beautiful brown eyes every time he had his helmet off, or the Sangheili tattoos on his back that twisted and turned in beautiful shapes and patterns and lightly glowed when he was pissed, or the way he would sneak glances at Wash and lick his lips before returning to whatever it is he’d been doing beforehand, or-

Oh _fuck._

It was, without a single sliver of a shadow of doubt that the person he needed to get to love him was Tucker.

Of course, it was fucking Tucker.

Wash stared at the petal in his hand. This was going to be impossible. He may have had a bit of a chance with anyone else in the canyon, but Tucker was the straightest person he’d ever met. Tucker talked about having sex with women almost all the time, damn it. He may as well have just died then and there, if his death was inevitable then why not have it happen now?

Then he started to wonder exactly how much time he had left. _If the Hanahaki doesn’t get you, the poison will,_ Donut’s words rang in his head. He might be able to fight the poison for a while, but damn, he should have asked what the effects of the poison were. Unless they were getting rescued soon, or Doc showed up again, he wouldn’t be able to get any sort of medical help.

What if he just ate the petals he was storing? It would make things go a lot quicker. _No,_ he thought, _I’ve survived far worse than this. A few flowers aren’t going to stop me._

He wasn’t going to give up.

He was determined to seduce Tucker.

* * *

_What did Donut call these things again?_

Wash was sitting at the desk in his room. He had changed out of his armor, keeping the petals on his desk so he could research them. His datapad was in his hands, displaying an online plant encyclopedia. _Sacred Datura,_ he reminded himself as he scrolled through the pages. The page he found said the plant was called “Datura Wrightii,” and like Donut said, was poisonous. Wash skimmed over a lot of the text, searching for the poison effects until he found a small paragraph listing them.

Some of the simpler effects were high fever, dry skin, flushing, but there were others that concerned Wash. Psychosis, agitated delirium, seizures and, once again stated by Donut, a coma. The poison was mostly in the seeds, and Wash hadn’t recalled if he had coughed those up as well.

“Well, shit.” Wash muttered to himself, resting his datapad on his desk. He leaned back in his chair, staring up at the gaps in the ceiling. With no idea how to get Tucker to reciprocate his alleged feelings for him. And no idea how to even think of an idea for that.

He considered using one of Tucker’s own tactics against him, but he knew how often those failed. Then again, if Tucker seems to think they work, maybe he’d fall for them himself. Or he’d be so disturbed that Wash would lose the small chance he had at succeeding.

Wash began running his fingers through his hair due to stress. He knew how fucked he was. Was he supposed to wish that statement could mean multiple things? That was one thing he wasn’t sure of. He got out of his chair and looked at the broken body-length mirror they had found when their ship crashed. Some of the mirror was still in the frame, but most of it had been smashed and was missing. But from what he could see he was a mess; his hair went in every direction from running his fingers through it, the bags under his eyes were more prominent than usual, and his face and neck were red. Most of it wasn’t visible through his hoodie and sweatpants, but he was sure the rest of his skin was red as well. He blinked at the sight a few times before leaving his room.

Something was off about the base. It seemed quiet, dull, and empty. Sure, the sound of Red Team arguing was still there and Caboose’s cheers for Freckles were still audible, but they seemed more distant than usual. Wash’s throat tightened, but he made his way to Tucker’s room.

When he was face-to-face with the aqua soldier’s door, he didn’t knock. He just stared at it for a long moment, taking note of every dent, every mark, every chip in the door’s paint. He lifted his hand to knock several times before sighing and putting it back down. He wasn’t even sure Tucker was on the other side. He had only assumed he was. And if he was, this door was the only thing between the two, all he had to do was open it, watch as it slid into the wall and Tucker’s room came into view. And Tucker would be looking at him, his eyes would be brown at first, but would turn aqua and glow as he yelled at Wash for walking in on whatever he was doing but Wash wouldn’t care. He would just walk in, place his hands on the sides of Tucker’s face and just stare into his beautiful, gleaming eyes, and that was all they’d be doing for what would seem like hours, days, months even, until finally-

The door opened on it’s own. 

Tucker stared at Wash in confusion. Wash didn’t say anything. They simply stared at each other, Wash holding his breath.

“Uh, dude, you’re kind of in the way.” Tucker finally said after a while.

“Oh, uh, yes, sorry.” Wash stepped aside. Tucker gave him a curious look before walking off. “God fucking damn it.” He muttered under his breath when Tucker was out of sight. “What the fuck _was_ that?”

Wash didn’t know what to do now. Wash didn’t know what he was going to do in the first place. And, as if his feet had minds of their own, he began to walk after Tucker, who was looking through one of the cupboard’s in the kitchen.

“Where the hell did Caboose hide our rations this time?” He heard Tucker mutter. Wash leaned against the wall, his hands behind his head, as he waited for Tucker to turn around.

But, he didn’t. He was still rummaging through the clearly empty cupboard, as if something would appear in it the longer he stared at it. He put something in his pocket before closing the cupboard and finally turning around, jumping at the sight of Wash.

“Dude, you’re being really fucking creepy right now.” Tucker seemed irritated.

“What? I’m just standing here.” Wash defended.

“Yeah, exactly. You’re standing there and you’re staring at me. For no reason.”

“Who said there wasn’t a reason?”

“If there was a reason, you’d probably fucking tell me.” Tucker started walking past Wash, but he stopped him, grabbing his wrist. Tucker tried to pull away. “Dude, what the fuck?”

“Don’t you want to know the reason?” Wash smirked, though he wasn’t enjoying himself. He wasn’t proud of what he was doing. Quite the opposite, actually.

“Wash, I’m starting to get worried,” The shorter soldier looked up at Wash, no longer struggling to break from Wash’s grasp. “You cough all your guts out, act like you’re fine, look like you’ve just had heated sex, and are now acting weird and cryptic. We’d better get that com tower working soon, because you clearly need serious medical help.”

“Is that what you think of me?”

“... _What?_ ”

Wash let go of his wrist. “Well, is it?”

Tucker blinked. His eyes had turned aqua by now, and his back began to glow a bit. “No, what I think is that you’re an ex-special ops guy who’s used to being betrayed on a daily basis. There. Are you happy?”

Wash was silent. Even if he didn’t have any expectations for Tucker’s response, he definitely wasn’t expecting _that._ But he needed to think of something to say, something to _do_ quickly, or Tucker will just leave again. So, he grabbed Tucker’s hand and turned it over, tracing the lines of his palm with his finger. Tucker said nothing, didn’t react, just stared as Wash did his thing.

“You want to know what I think of you?”

“I guess?”

“I think you’re beautiful.”

Tucker ripped his hand away. “Y’know what? Fuck you, dude.” And he stormed off for the third time that day. Wash wanted to call out to him, reach out to him, grab him and take him somewhere Not Here so they can just be alone and Wash can explain everything to him.

But he couldn’t. He’d make things worse, if that was even possible. That didn’t mean he was giving up, no. He’d try again when Tucker was calmer. Try to actually talk to him, try to plan out what to do instead of winging it. But for now, he was heading back to his room. That entire interaction had made him feel sick. Maybe all he needed was rest, then he would talk to Tucker again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to clarify, since Wash is just coughing up bits of the Datura's poison at different times, the effects will come to him much slower than they actually should (I don't know how this would actually work, so this is just how I'll be doing it in this fic.) With that aside, I hope you enjoyed this trainwreck of a chapter and if you did, maybe it'll be fun seeing where this thing'll go.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wash sees Tucker in a different light. And he hates himself for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things get pretty sexual in this chapter. Read at your own risk.

When Wash woke up a few days later, it was to a pounding headache and lots of banging. His throat hurt like hell and he was nauseous, and he wasn’t sure if it was due to the datura’s poisoning or the Hanahaki itself.

“Wash, what the fuck? Are you dead in there or some shit?” Tucker’s voice rang from the other side of the door.

“No, I, uh… Everything’s fine, Tucker.” Wash responded, his voice rasping.

“Can you unlock this door?” Tucker stopped banging.

“Yeah, just hold on.” Wash threw his legs off the bed, staring down at a small pool of blood on the floor. He had another coughing fit before passing out, so there were scattered petals on the floor as well. Careful not to step on it, he got up from his bed and wobbled over to his door, unlocking it but not opening it. Tucker slid the door open himself.

“Wash, what- oh, you look terrible. Did you have sex again?” Tucker eyed Wash up and down, as if in shock he was able to look worse than he had the night before.

“What? I never-” Wash stared at him in dismay. If his face wasn’t already red, it would have flushed.

“So you’re a virgin?” Tucker raised an eyebrow.

“Well, yes- wait, no, I mean-” Wash didn’t let himself continue. “What do you need, Tucker?”

“Not much, it’s just weird not waking up to somebody putting you through torture.”

“So you just came to check on me?”

“Check on you? I thought you were dead, dude. I’d ask if you were drinking, but where the fuck would you find booze out here?”

“Tucker, I don’t drink.”

“Well, even if there was booze, Grif would’ve drank it all.” When Wash didn’t respond, Tucker spoke again. “As much as I don’t want to ask him, Donut might know some things about whatever’s wrong with you.”

“Don’t bother, I’ve already spoken with him.” Shit. Now he had to explain. “After the… coughing up blood incident.”

“And?” Tucker pushed.

“And nothing. Nothing’s wrong.”

“Bullshit.” Tucker turned around, walking off.

Wash closed the door and sat on his bed, once again staring at the pool of blood. Had Tucker seen it? The petals from the first time Tucker saw were covered by the blood, but these weren’t.

Crouching, he prodded around the petals with his finger, getting blood on it. He moved the petals to the side and began smearing the blood as if he were looking for something in it. But there was nothing there.

Wash felt something tickle in his throat. Great, another coughing fit. He started forcefully gagging in hopes to get it over with, however he wasn’t able to keep it up for long as he ran out of breath. He gasped, causing him to choke on the petals in his throat and continue gagging. Each time he coughed and hacked, it felt as if there were tiny thorns clawing at his throat. He started pounding on his chest in hopes for it to come up faster, until finally he spat it all out, adding to the pile of petals he had made.

To his dismay, petals and blood weren’t the only things that he coughed up. There was something small and covered in spikes, something he hadn’t seen before. He wanted to pick it up to examine, but didn’t want to be pierced by the spikes in case it had something to do with the poison.

He grabbed the datapad that was on his desk and skimmed through the same encyclopedia page again. He reread the poison effects, where the poison was, and learned that the small spiked thing he coughed up was a seed capsule. The article also stated that the plant was actually a type of drug, and people deliberately poisoned themselves with it to trip.

Why the hell hadn’t Donut told him that? Did Donut think it wasn’t important? He wanted to radio the pink soldier, but didn’t want anybody to hear whatever conversation they would have.

So Wash was doing drugs against his will. Great.

He looked back at the spike he had coughed up, remembering something else unexpected that came out. He picked it up off the ground and inspected it. It resembled a trumpet, it was white with the edges of it tinted blue.

It was the entire flower. His condition wasn’t lifting in the slightest, it was worsening. All hope of getting cured could have vanished then and there, he could have just gone to his bed to lie down and wait for death to take him in it’s arms and drag him away from everything going on around him. But he refused. He’s been through way worse than this.

Wash decided to clean himself up. Obviously they didn’t have showers there, but there had been shower essentials in the crashed ship that they had taken with them. Wash stripped off his clothes and did his thing, not feeling any difference once he was finished. He put on his undersuit, but left his armor to the side and walked out of his room, boots clanking against the floor with each step he took.

The base had the same mysterious, dull vibe as the previous days, the only difference being that today it was worse. There were a few small, black dots running across the floor- spiders. Wash didn’t bother stepping on them. They were probably there before they were, he had no right. Wait, but they’re just spiders, Wash reminded himself. Half of them would probably die in about an hour, anyway. But he kept trudging through the base, feeling as if those spiders had moved under his already heated skin.

Tucker must have left the base, or locked himself in his room, because he wasn’t in their makeshift kitchen. In fact, the whole base just felt… _vacant._ And they had been living there for a few months now. It should feel at least a bit lively, it should feel like a weird short-term home, but it feels more like a long-term prison than anything. Same routine everyday, unable to go anywhere else, as if the only thing that exists in the world is what you can see despite knowing there’s more on the outside.

Despite that aching presence, Wash knows there’s something after it all. Without the knowledge of what it is or who it’s with, half of him fears that something. And the other half? Longs for it. Aches for it. Screams at the top of it’s lungs as it’s patience slowly slips away from it more and more each day they aren’t rescued. The constant feeling of being watched that he had didn’t help the fact. It mocked that half of him to the point it threatened to claw its way into insanity. But just like everything going on at the time, Wash had been through much worse and this canyon wasn’t going to be the thing to tip him over the edge.

Wash wishes the feeling of being watched would be as consciously known to him as how much he’d been thinking of Tucker as of late. Not just how he planned on seducing Tucker, no. Similar thoughts, but worse. Thoughts he wants to blame on the Hanahaki disease, but those thoughts are why he has it in the first place. He’s had those thoughts of Tucker before, sure, but not nearly as often and he was only ever subconsciously aware of them.

The one he remembers most vividly Wash remembers dreaming, but maybe he was just telling himself that so to not come to terms with the fact he’s deliberately thinking of an associate like that. He would be in the middle of talking to Tucker, forgetting specifically what about, when Tucker would interrupt him by pinning him to a nearby wall despite his smaller frame.

_“Tucker, what are you doing?” Wash would ask, not trying to free himself from the aqua soldier’s grip. His eyes would focus on Tucker’s lips as his tongue swept over them._

_“Enjoying the view,” Tucker would close the gap between them, grinding his hips against Wash. “Unless the view doesn’t like that.”_

_And Wash would feel his cheeks flush, the red spreading to his neck and shoulders even. He could feel Tucker’s erection against his leg, and would be lying if he said he wasn’t getting off a bit himself. Okay, even_ that _was lying, he was getting off a lot. But Wash would realize he hadn’t said anything in response as Tucker would slide his hands underneath Wash’s hoodie and start flicking his nipples. Wash would bite back a moan as he thought of something to say._

_A quiet, helpless “Tucker” would be the only thing to come out of his mouth when he opened it, and Tucker would look up at him, blush barely hidden by his dark skin. His stupid, bright smirk made Wash bite down on his lip hard enough to draw blood._

_“Is this alright?” Tucker would ask. Even though his actions were quite sudden, he seemed to be wary of how far he trekked. Wash would appreciate that fact with a low hum, nodding. With Wash’s approval, Tucker would tear off his hoodie and start sucking at the hollow of Wash’s neck. He’d close his eyes, fighting a whimper of want that threatened to escape through his lips._

_Working his way down Wash’s chest, Tucker would move his hands to Wash’s hips and tug at the hem of his sweatpants with his teeth. Wash would dig his nails into his palms, silently urging Tucker to hurry up before realizing where they were. He wouldn't want to ruin the moment, but he wouldn’t want to be seen like this even less. So he'd grip Tucker’s ponytail of dreads and tug a bit, wincing as he did so._

_“Not here,” He would simply whisper, however the want and need would be obnoxiously audible in his voice. “Your room, bathroom, please just not here.”_

_So Tucker would let go of Wash and stand up, move his hands to the back of his neck and rub it anxiously. “Sorry, I know you don’t like being tou-”_

_“Please fuck me,” Wash would breathe, and the need in his voice would annoy the shit out of him and he would hate how he sounded, but he wouldn’t care until later. “Just not here.”_

Wash snapped back to reality as he felt something brush against his thigh. His daydreaming had gotten him hard. Not just halfway, full-on. Groaning in annoyance, he looked around the kitchen, not looking for anything in particular, just something to distract himself with.

Dropping to his knees, he clutched his chest, gagging, Not only was he hard, he was starting another coughing fit- more like gagging fit at this point. In his daydreaming he had almost forgotten about that. But he began to notice a pattern; most of his coughing fits occurred when Tucker was on his mind. Whether it be imaginary or genuine, the aqua soldier seemed to be the trigger to these fits. So Wash thought if he stopped thinking about Tucker, he would be cured, but for starters, they “live” together, and Wash would also have coughing fits without provocation from thoughts of Tucker.

So, he forced that terrible idea out of his mind and focused on getting the buildup of flowers out of his throat. It was lodged in the back of his throat, rendering him unable to breathe, so he hacked a few times until blood spewed out along with a few petals, the buildup not completely clear. He thrusted his fist into his stomach, successfully forcing out a clump of flowers and blood. Surprisingly, it hit the floor with a thud, an actual fucking thud, and Wash swallowed as much air as he possibly could.

The agonizing ache had become a familiar residence in Wash’s chest. Not welcomed, just familiar. And edging a bit too close to unbearable. His erection had long gone; there’s nothing erotic about choking on blood and flowers. His throat had been burning ever since the first few petals he gagged out, pretty sure his tonsils were swollen on top of it. Overall, the Hanahaki had left him much weaker than he’d like. Not that he’d like to be weak at all.

The thing he feared the most about the situation wasn’t his death- he never feared death. His biggest fear was not being strong enough to fight for his team. The Reds and Blues would be fine on their own, sure, they had proven that to him. But that doesn’t mean he can just leave them. He figured that was why he was so determined to swoon Tucker, so his death didn’t halter his friends. He made a mental note telling him to prepare things for the Reds and Blues in case he fails.

But, for now he has a throbbing headache he desperately wants to kill off.

* * *

“ _Tucker._ ” Wash groaned, wincing as Tucker drew blood from his neck by biting it.

“Wash.” Tucker mocked in a similar tone.

Wash’s hands were tied together over his head by Tucker’s belt. The only piece of clothing he wore were his boxers, which he longed for them to be removed. Tucker had him pinned against the cot in his room, his mouth working at his neck and his hands keeping Wash’s hips pinned down.

Tucker moved his mouth down Wash’s chest, starting to suck on one of his nipples. With his hands tied together he couldn’t fist the sheets, so he cupped them together and squeezed as hard as possible as he bit his tongue. That didn’t stop a moan from escaping his lips.

“Hurry up,” Wash breathed instead of spoke, fearing a storm of sounds would escape him if he spoke any louder. “You’re going too slow.”

“You can’t rush perfection.” Tucker teased, rubbing Wash’s other nipple with a spit-covered thumb. He started kissing down Wash’s abdomen and tugged at the hem of his boxers. Wash’s erection was pressed against Tucker’s neck, and it twitched as he licked the tip of it through the fabric.

“You _tease_.” Wash hissed through gritted teeth. Tucker was nibbling part of Wash’s boxers now, pulling them down agonizingly slow. If Wash weren’t tied up he would have ripped them off a long time ago.

“That’s the point.” Tucker mouthed around the cloth. After a moment of Wash silently pleading Tucker to go faster, his boxers were finally off of him and he sighed in relief. But Tucker, like the fucking tease he is, came back up to kiss Wash, nipping at his bottom lip. Wash wanted to say something to Tucker, something about getting back to what he was doing, but their mouths locked together prevented him from doing so.

Wash gasped as he felt Tucker’s thumb brush against his tip. It was a simple touch, but somehow enough for a loud moan to escape him that was muffled by their locked lips. Tucker pulled away for air with one of the biggest smirks Wash had ever seen. He wrapped his hand around Wash, causing him to buck his hips up. Wash hated how he was reacting but didn’t focus on that fact, just focused on how good he felt and how badly he wanted Tucker to hurry up already. Tucker fisted him, slowly yet hard, as Wash closed his eyes and rolled his hips.

Something warm and wet touched Wash’s neck, making a stripe. Tucker’s tongue. He nipped at Wash’s earlobe, and Wash enjoyed the feeling of hot breath on the side of his face when Tucker whispered a single word in his ear. And the word was so simple, filled with charm as it rolled off of the aqua soldier’s tongue.

“ _David_ _._ ”

* * *

Horror flooded Wash when he woke up.

The sounds, the heat- it all hit Wash at once. He just woke up from a wet dream as if he were a fucking teenager again. Moans and whines were coming out of him as he grinded his hips against the cot he slept on. Closing his mouth, he prayed neither Tucker or Caboose heard his lack of dignity.

He looked down at himself. Still in his undersuit, but his boots were off. And his erection, actually throbbing, was painfully prominent. The suit clung to his skin normally, but now it was covered in sweat so it didn’t just cling to him, it was almost glued to him. He ran a finger down his chest, and when he took it off it was sticky. He hadn’t sweat like this in months.

One word in particular from his dream echoed through his aching head. His name. His _real_ name. David. That was probably the reason he woke up, when he must have realized he was dreaming. He had never told Tucker his first name, there was no way the sim trooper could use it if he didn’t know it. And he hadn’t been called that in a long time- that was the most unsettling to him. And it brought back memories- memories of Carolina, memories of Project Freelancer, Epsilon’s memories- which he tried his hardest to repress. They had no place here, especially now.

For now, he had to focus on solving the problem in front of him- how the hell was he supposed to clean this up? Luckily his sweat hadn’t drenched the cot too much, so he didn’t have to worry about that. He could wear civies and hang his suit to dry, but it would reek. Not that anybody in the canyon minded at this point. So, he went with that plan, changing into a gray t-shirt and black jeans. He was still semi-hard, but it wasn’t noticeable.

The familiar pain of hunger hit Wash like a truck. He hadn’t eaten anything since speaking with Donut, which was- what, nearly a week ago? No wonder he felt weaker than usual, having to sleep more. He had no energy. Or maybe it was because of the poison. There was no way for him to tell what the poison was and wasn’t doing to him, some of this could be natural.

Wash went straight to the kitchen. Ignored the ever-worsening vacancy that shouldn’t be there, ignored the group of spiders that had seemingly multiplied, ignored all the chips of paint and dents in the base that he could have sworn hadn’t been there before. Just went straight to where their rations _usually_ were, since Caboose had a bad habit of playing something called “hide-and-don’t-seek” with them (Caboose said he and Church used to play it all the time).

To his near surprise, the ration bars were in their usual spot. Wash took one and broke a third of it off, leaving the rest in the bag and sealing it. He eyed the bar in his hand for a long moment before reluctantly eating it, trying to ignore the bitter flavor.

He needed to try again with Tucker today- his condition was worsening. The ache in his chest and his lungs made it hard to breathe, and his voice was getting raspy. He didn’t know how much time he had left- if it were any other flower he would probably have enough time, have an actual chance at swooning Tucker rather than being doomed from the start.

“Sleep well?” Wash hears a voice from behind him and swears the universe hates him. If his skin wasn’t already flushed red, blush would have crept up his face as he turned to meet the eyes of Tucker.

“We’re in the middle of nowhere with no way to contact any rescue teams and a constant feeling of being watched,” Wash spoke quickly. “How could anyone sleep well with that hanging over their head?”

“You wouldn’t expect anyone to have nice dreams either, would you?” Tucker spoke and Wash’s brain completely shut down. _He knows._ Wait, no, that only implies he knows. He never directly said he heard him.

So Wash kept a straight face as he replied. “I suppose not.”

“But it can still happen, right?” Tucker took a few steps closer, raising an eyebrow as his smirk grew.

“What’s your point?” Wash narrowed his eyes.

“There’s none,” Tucker shrugged his shoulders and Wash was convinced he knew. “Just curious.”

“As to?”

“As to why there were moans coming from your room this morning.”

Fuck.

_Fuck._

“Th-that’s not something for you to be concerned about.” Wash sputtered. His heart began to race and his hands itched to go to his hair, but he forced them to stay at his sides.

“Not to be concerned about?” Tucker echoed in bafflement. “You were so loud, I’d be surprised if the Reds _didn’t_ hear you. Seriously, who have you been banging all week?”

“I haven’t been banging _anyone,_ ” Wash snapped. “I don’t bang, Tucker.”

“I can fix that for you.” Tucker jested.

“That won’t be necessary,” Wash’s voice cracked as he spoke. The heat, the sweat that rolled down the side of his face became too distracting. He couldn’t deal with this right now. “I’m gonna go run the training course.”

Wash stormed off, back to his room to get his armor back on. He wasn’t hiding, he told himself, he was working. Tucker said something, probably about running his training course, but Wash didn’t listen. The heat was too much, too quick, that _conversation_ was too much too quick. He’d rather be wearing his sweat-slick undersuit in heated armor than continue that interaction.

* * *

“So how bad is this?”

“The man coming for us is named Locus. He’s a merc like me only, y’know, terrifying.”

It had been two days since Wash and Tucker’s “talk”. They had barely spoken in those two days, and when they finally did it wasn’t much, just a few shared words while they were under attack. This Felix person- Wash didn’t fully trust him. Sure, he had protected them from- Locus, was it?- jumped in front of a bullet from him. But the whole “fighting someone else’s war so he can get a paycheck” thing didn’t sit right with him. Though, he had warned them about an oncoming attack, so maybe he wasn’t as bad as Wash thought.

“Locus?”

“Yeah. Guy’s so far off the deep end he prefers to go by the name of his armor instead of the name he was born with.” Felix explained.

“That’s unsettling.” Wash commented.

“Oh, are you first name ‘Agent’, last name ‘Washington’? That’s so weird.” Felix must have rolled his eyes, Wash assumed, since his helmet rolled in a circle.

“That’s just… old habits.” And memories of Project Freelancer came back to him again. Specifically when the Director referred to him by his first name, Wash snapping at him that he gave him his new name and he should use it.

“...The Federal Army’s got all sorts of fancy stuff. I got my light shield off a dead soldier.” Felix pulled out his shield, making some sound effects to go alongside it. “Pretty cool.”

“It’s just that I’ve never seen that kind of equipment outside of Project Freelancer.” Wash thought of North and Theta, the day they were training together on the floor, how they worked so well together against the turrets.

“Welcome to the future, Wash,” Felix put the shield away. “Technology’s incredible, and everyone uses it to kill each other.”

“Does that mean you guys have the same equipment?”

“I wish. The New Republic’s barely getting by with what they can. You wouldn’t happen to have any high-tech armor aboard that wreck, would you?”

“Plenty of armor, just nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Well, at least you can accessorize, huh? Try a little color combo, mix it up-I-I'm sorry, I'm just trying to lighten the mood.”

Wash thought for a moment, About the mercenary’s words. So many memories of Project Freelancer had already snuck back into his mind, he was just lucky the darkest memories hadn’t gotten any light shed on them. Especially… the memories Epsilon had left behind.

“Actually, I think I might indulge in some of those old habits you were talking about.”

* * *

His head is pounding. Everything’s aching. The sounds of yells from soldiers and bullets being fired were blaring around him as he got up from the round. He groaned from the pain, raising his hand to bring it to his temples just for his fingers to be blocked by metal. He had his helmet on. How could he forget that?

“Wash! Wash, come on!” Tucker’s voice. It reached him over the bullets being fired. Wash turned his gaze to the sound, spotting the familiar lens on an aqua helmet, seeing Tucker calling for him.

But the yelling. The cries, the screams, the fear could be heard in each sound. Forcing his gaze away from the welcoming aqua, he saw soldiers being shot, soldiers being killed, soldiers mourning for their lost comrades. It wasn’t as if Wash hadn’t seen this before, he’d seen much, _much_ worse in his time as a Freelancer, as an ex-special ops guy. It had just been a while; the worst thing Wash had dealt with was losing his rank as Blue Team’s leader to Caboose and having a giant killer robot trying to kill him all hours of the day. He knew the pain those scared soldiers felt.

He looked back to Tucker, who was still yelling at him. Something indistinguishable at this point. Felix was ushering him to go through the tunnel. So he looked up at Freckles, and with a sliver of regret in his raspy voice he issued a command to the mantis.

“Freckles, shake!”

The mantis smacked the ground, Wash bracing himself as it shook. Tucker’s voice rang in his ears; “Hey-hey, no! What’re you doing?” And Wash watched as rocks fell in front of the sim trooper, the flash of his aqua armor staining his mind as the tunnel was closed off, inaccessible, blocked off from the Federal Army. Wash sighed in relief.

A sharp pain in the back of his head was the last thing he felt, thoughts of Tucker flooding his mind as he fell unconscious once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter was a little shorter than the first one, still hope you enjoyed it!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wash finds it difficult to win over Tucker when they're both at the mercy of opposite sides of the war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: minor depictions of gore. i honestly have no idea what to rate this fic anymore.

Gentle thumping. In his ears- his heart beating. Wait, no, it’s distant? Is his heart beating? It is, but it’s too much. There’s two things thumping, both fast paced but one was much faster, much harsher than the other. A metallic scent- is _that_ blood? No, its actual metal. The pain, it’s switching from the back of his head to his temples, throughout his entire body, especially his chest. It’s not evenly distributed, and… neither is his blood flow? It might be rushing towards the spots that hurt the most, he doesn’t know and he can’t tell. The only thing he’s sure of is the pain, the thudding, a faint beeping- or is it buzzing?- noise far off in the distance that he wants to both run from and run towards, and-

“Well hello, Agent Washington.” A voice. It’s recognizable- no it’s not. Is it? It’s too much, too confusing, and had he been here before? The place seemed empty and abandoned, why was he here? He didn’t even remember coming here, he just woke up here and- wait a second, he knows this place.

“Project... Freelancer?” He didn’t know where the familiar-unfamiliar voice was coming from but asked it anyway. And he could have sworn the voice repeated himself, more of a faded echo than an actual voice anymore. It didn’t help Wash’s confusion- he wanted to go out and search for the voice, see if he knew who it was or not, because Jesus Christ just trying to make sense of the situation made him go back to concentrating on the pain in his head. The voice might have said something else, but Wash didn’t care because now he was somewhere completely different.

“Huh?” The room was extremely dark, which was a nice change compared to the sunlight from before that worsened his headache. His eyes had to adjust to the shift in light, however, and in front of him was a large screen and… what the fuck?

“So you would say that you have overwhelming feelings of anger and a need for revenge?” The voice was back, it was actually clear now. Wash was finally able to recognize the voice as the Counselor, his calming voice almost disturbing in this fever dream of a situation.

“More than you know.” His own voice. But his mouth didn’t open, his throat never vibrated, no noise came from him other than the overwhelming pace of his heartbeat. In front of the screen was… him? Was he looking in a mirror? No, he didn’t feel the weight of his armor on him while the Wash in front of him still had black armor. Wash stared at what could either be a past form of himself or an impostor in dismay, wanting to do so many different things at once; run away, punch the other Wash, yell, the list goes on.

A gunshot. The scene in front of him was gone, the darkness was gone and the light that made his skin heat up and his temples throb with pain had replaced it. There was ringing in his ears from what he thought was the gunshot, but the beeping in the distance almost seemed louder despite clearly being miles and miles away. Then there was a thud as Wash looked forward and- _oh no._

Lopez lay on the ground next to Simmons. Donut was on the other side of Simmons and there _he_ was in front of them, holding up a gun to where Lopez must have been just standing. He remembered the Meta being there, but the round visor on the bulky soldier’s helmet was nowhere to be found. Wash- no, the _other one_ pointed his gun towards the sim trooper in pink armor.

“Wait- Wait!” Wash ran ahead a few steps before there was another gunshot and thud. Donut fell to the ground, blood oozing into the grass as his body twitched a bit before going limp. Suddenly he wished he was wearing his helmet to hide the look of horror that must have covered his face. This was one of his many, many regrets from working with the Meta and now he had relived it- no, that’s not the word. Rewatched? The guilt was still there, so maybe it was both. He wanted to reach out, yell at the other one for what he’d done, maybe beat him into a pulp, before he heard Simmons’ voice.

“Why did you do that? What’s wrong with you?” The maroon soldier shouted, something similar to pain in his voice that Wash didn’t remember being there the first time.

“No! I was just-” Wash was at a loss for words, the guilt holding him back from tearing the other one apart.

“I was just following orders.” A deep, menacing voice that was almost familiar came from behind him. As if finishing his poor excuse for a defense with something completely different from what he had wanted to say. Despite his refusal, he found himself mimicking the voice’s words, a monotone ‘just following orders’ coming out of his gaping mouth. Immediately he wanted to take his words- they weren’t his, the voice’s- words back, attack whoever had implanted the lie in his mind.

“You _shot_ him!” An unrecognizable voice. And this time he was certain he didn’t know it, there wasn’t a single hint of uncertainty in his mind because he had never heard the voice before, though the accusatory tone stung. Something else came out of Wash’s mouth, a single word released out of confusion.

“What?” His vision blurred for a moment and everything was brighter than before when it cleared.

“You shot him!” The same words as before, but not the same voice. Simmons was in his face, the same, stinging tone in his voice as the stranger. “You shot Donut!”

Wash jumped back, pointing a gun- wait, since when did he have a gun on him?- at the maroon soldier’s helmet. “No! I just… I did what I had to do.” And he regretted the words as soon as they came out of his mouth. His finger hovered over the trigger of the gun despite him screaming at himself to drop the gun. The one thing that stopped him from shooting Simmons right then and there might have been the deep voice from before behind him again.

“Don’t we all?” The voice teased, and Wash got a simple glance of a green “X” before he shot the person. The body fell to the ground, but it wasn’t anybody he didn’t recognize. It was his own body, and not the other one, but _himself,_ in nothing but his undersuit, skin redder than Sarge’s armor, blonde hair in his freckled face as he stared ahead with unseeing eyes, more crimson liquid oozing onto the ground. “Agent Washington.”

And when Wash looked at _his own_ hands they weren’t red anymore. No, they were now gloved and, in fact, armor weighed down his arms, his chest, his entire body and there was even a helmet on his head, but he wasn’t looking through the visor. As if the helmet wasn’t there, but it was, and he knew it was, the weight of it painfully clear. It wasn’t as hot anymore, the pain in his chest had lifted somewhat, and he assumed the skin under his gloves was no longer red.

Back at their base. The shipwreck, before Felix showed up and the Feds attacked. But he still had his gray armor, his helmet discarded to the side. The visor was shattered and the shards were splayed along the floor. Someone was sitting in between his thighs, Wash recognized Tucker’s dreads tied behind his head. _Tucker._

Wash’s arms were wrapped around Tucker’s waist, _he’d never held Tucker like this before,_ but he felt a hot liquid running down his arm from his hands. The crimson fluid stained his gloves, his armor, his undersuit, _Tucker._ There was a tear in Tucker’s aqua hoodie. _Tucker was bleeding._

A gaping wound, starting from his stomach and going all the way up to his throat. Wash winced as the harsh metallic scent strengthened, and _oh god Tucker’s dead._

A knife. He was holding a knife. His hands were at Tucker’s throat now. _Tucker._ Wash had done this. He didn’t remember doing this. No, this never happened, _but if it didn’t happen then why is it right in front of you, you killed Tucker, this is why you were certified twelve, what is wrong with you-_

His thoughts were cut off, his vision brightening, the beeping in the distance growing louder and louder along with a voice. A new voice. Someone was calling his name in the distance. A female voice, getting louder and louder, closer and closer alongside the beeping. The already unbearable pain in his temples worsened, he wanted to rip the knife out of Tucker so he could bring it to his own temples for some form of release, _you killed Tucker, Wash._ The voices, the beeping grew louder and louder, his vision grew brighter and brighter until it was too overwhelming, and _it's finally stopping- no it's not._

* * *

“I think he’s waking up!”

“Well, stop hovering over him! He probably would have woken up sooner if...”

The voices faded out of Wash’s mind as he blinked his eyes open. His natural instinct would be to reach for his magnum, but his wrists were tied together behind his back. His ankles were also cuffed, and he was leaning against the wall of a cold, dark room he hadn’t been in before. Something sharp and cold was digging into the small of his back, where his hands were tied.

“Wash? Wash, are you alright?” Donut’s voice came from the right to him. Wash met the gaze of his blue eyes and nodded, though it was forced. His head hurt worse than it did in that weird dream-vision or whatever _that_ was. The pain in his chest that he’d grown used to was much worse as well, and he felt some petals coming up. He felt something hard yet sticky on his arm and his throat tightened.

“You were in the med bay,” Donut explained. “We all were.”

“But you were thrashin’ about like they were trying to kill you.” Sarge added. “Almost lost ya.”

The two red soldiers also had their wrists and ankles tied together. And what Wash hadn’t noticed was that they were all wearing collars chained to the wall. Like fucking animals. Their armor had been stripped of them, and judging by how their undersuits were partially zipped open, they had tried to take those as well.

“Where are the others?” Wash asked, his voice rasping. “Where’s Tucker?”

“We don’t know.” Donut shook his head. Wash blinked at the blonde soldier a few times before looking down at the floor, not saying a word. The silence stretched on, sounds of clanging audible outside of the room. A different feeling was in Wash’s chest, not the pain from coughing up flowers every hour back in the canyon. It was still pain, just not physical. Is it guilt? Sadness? Worry? It felt like a mix of each.

“So, Wash,” Donut broke the silence. “How’s your petal problem?”

“We’re locked up in a cell with no idea where our friends are, hell we don’t even know where _we_ are, and you’re worried about _that?_ ” Wash gaped at Donut in a mixture of shock and anger.

“Well, it’s not like we can do anything right now.” Donut huffed, almost in disappointment. Wash looked over to Sarge, who didn’t say a word but had a _very_ confused expression on his face.

The clanging outside became louder and louder until the door opened, four people in armor walking into the room. They carried with them pieces of equipment that Wash had seen many times before, and they brought back _even more fucking memories of Project Freelancer._ Two of them had started asking Sarge and Donut questions, Sarge yelling at them both to scram, and the other two had come over to Wash.

“Oh, good, you’re awake.” The first one said in a cheery, high-pitched voice. Wash remembered the same voice from his visions, calling his name. _And then he passed out._

“What’s going on?” Wash pushed against the wall, the cuffs pressing into his wrists and back hard enough to bruise. The second nurse tried to check his pulse, Wash biting his hand as he drew it towards his neck. The nurse retreated with a small yelp, rubbing his hand.

“You were unconscious,” The cheery one bubbled. “I performed surgery when you got here, so you may find some new scars. We’re just here to check on you, then we’ll be on our way.”

Wash blinked at them for a moment. He didn’t want to trust them. This whole ordeal was just… _absurd._ Nonetheless, these were medics, and they didn’t seem like any sort of threat, but he kept his guard up.

“You can check through my wrists.” Wash turned to his side, enough for his wrists to be visible, _tangible,_ to the medics. The one Wash bit hesitated before checking his pulse through his wrist. He then took off his glove and pressed the back of his hand to Wash’s forehead, wrote something on a small piece of paper and turned to leave.

But Wash knew the universe hated him. Despised him. Because at that moment he started coughing. Hard. The medics stopped in the doorway and looked at Wash, not doing anything until he was hacking and blood began to drip from his mouth. As they rushed over to him he began to thrash, not wanting them to see him like this, not wanting them to touch him. The thrashing wasn’t much, however, the most he could move was his legs, which were tied together, and even when he did that the collar around his neck choked him. As he gagged desperate for air, a few petals came out alongside spews of blood that stained the white armor of the meds.

There was a mask put up to his face. He tried to move away from it, but one of the meds had a firm grip on his chin and forced the mask to his face. Chloroform. Wash’s breath and heart rate slowed as his vision darkened, a few full flowers coming out of his mouth before he was unconscious once more.

* * *

Wash woke up to his hands cuffed to a bed he was lying in.

And he had been stripped of his undersuit, the only thing covering him being a very thin sheet. The scars that lined his chest and arms stuck out more than usual due to his flushed skin, and the numerous scars on his legs were covered by the sheet. The pain in his chest had subsided a bit, and he was able to breathe normally.

A faint beeping came from next to him. When he noticed it he flinched, wanting to back away into something but being unable to. This must have been where he was during his “surgery.” But why was he cuffed to the damn bed?

Looking up his arms, he noticed something that definitely hadn’t been there before. Other than the machine he was hooked up to that monitored his heart rate. There were faint, light lines across his arms, almost like scratch marks. One of them was bleeding a bit, not enough to drip down his arm but enough to stand out. Some of the same marks were also on his palms, though they were much smaller and more like dents from nails digging into them.

“You’re awake again.” The cheery voice said. Wash snapped his attention to it, giving the medic the sharpest look he could manage in this state. There were pink, faded spots on her armor, which could have been from him spitting out blood or some past incident, whatever she had been through. “We gave you some painkillers for your Hanahaki situation.”

Wash wanted to ask if Donut had told them about it, but remembered these were medical professionals. If Donut of all people knew of the disease, these people would certainly know of it.

“It’s gotten pretty bad,” She continued, the enthusiasm in her voice now disturbing to Wash. “Full flowers don’t usually come until you’re close to dying. But the effects of the poison seem to be coming slowly, considering you didn’t seem very loopy but your skin is flushed.”

“Why am I cuffed?” Wash asked instead, though he didn’t care much for the answer. He wanted to know where Sarge and Donut were, where the others were, where Tucker was.

“You were clawing at your arms, sweetie.” The medic clasped her hands together. “Oh, I haven’t introduced myself, I’m Dr. Emily Grey! Now, about that removal surgery…”

Wash jumped again, nearly causing the thin sheet to let go of his dignity. “There will be no surgery, thank you.”

“Sweetie, if you don’t get that surgery, you’ll die.” Dr. Grey’s voice was way too giddy for that sentence. “Sure, you’ll lose the ability to feel emotions, but most people would say that’s better than being dead!”

“I wouldn’t,” Wash sighed, just wanting to be reunited with the Reds and Blues. “I can handle this. I’m fine, I don’t need surgery.” Grey just nodded as she left the room, leaving Wash alone with his thoughts. Though he realized that was a mistake when most of his thoughts were of the Reds and Blues. Mostly Tucker, because he’s the reason why he’s in the med bay and not with Sarge and Donut. He didn’t necessarily feel _anger_ towards the aqua soldier, it was something different. Definitely not hatred, the Hanahaki proved that (even if he didn’t have the Hanahaki, he wouldn’t hate Tucker for something small like this. That’d just be childish). Wash couldn’t even tell if it was a positive or negative feeling, it was just _there._

And this was the first time the ex-freelancer stopped and wondered what the actual fuck he was doing with the aqua solider.. What he was going to do, what he has done. Pretended to be someone he’s not to cure this physically impossible disease? Check. There’s no proof that charming Tucker will be the solution to all his problems, it’s just something Donut told him. Donut, the guy who can’t admit to having pink armor, the guy who makes sexual innuendos every time he opens his mouth, said he needs to seduce somebody or he’ll die, and Wash believed it. No part of that made sense, none of it _makes_ any sense but he still believed it.

And Tucker, of all people. Wash would never openly admit to having inappropriate thoughts of him in the past. Hell, he wouldn’t openly admit to still having those thoughts. It wasn’t like he was _trying_ to have those thoughts, like the ladies man himself would, they just slipped into his mind without his consent. He never thought he’d actually do anything with the straightie, he doesn’t think he _can_ anyway. Tucker would probably blow up in his face, something about him not being into dudes and that Wash might need medical help if he thought Tucker’d be into that. This entire situation had to be a dream or something.

He was also glad he never got to see Tucker’s face in his hallucination. Whatever horrific expression the sim trooper must have been making would have probably haunted Wash for a while. The worst part was that the hallucination could easily be a reality. Not him killing Tucker, of course not, but Tucker could be dead right now, his body rotting either back in the canyon or the New Republic’s base (wherever it was.)

Wash thanked whatever’s been watching him above when his thoughts were interrupted by footsteps. Sarge and Donut appeared in the doorway, in… full armor? They even had their weapons with them. And _his_ armor. His undersuit had been thrown to the side as it rested on a table, but he guessed Donut had been given that box with his armor plating inside by... some higher-up.

“Hey, Wash…” Donut visibly hesitated before taking a few steps closer to the bed.

“Donut, I can assure you, I’m fine.” Wash gave the pink soldier a weak smile to assure him, though he had _so many questions,_ and not just about why they had their armor and guns back.

But Donut seemed to know some of the questions he wanted to ask. “Everything was a misunderstanding. They weren’t trying to stop us from leaving, and they don’t want to keep us prisoner. They were trying to keep us away from the New Republic.”

“They were trying to protect us by attacking us?” Wash blinked in bafflement.

“All attacks were intended to wound, all shots were designed to intimidate.” A fourth voice. Not Grey’s, not the Counselor’s, however definitely one of the voices from Wash’s hallucination. Locus, he remembers, as the “x” on his helmet comes into view. Wash is suddenly horribly uncomfortable, feeling much too exposed around the mercenary.

Despite his vulnerable state, Wash still manages a scowl. “Locus.”

“Let me assure you my raid on your base was calculated, choreographed, and designed to apprehend you. Like herding sheep to the pen. Were it not for the intervention of the mercenary and his forces, I would have succeeded entirely.”

“Is that supposed to make us feel better?” Sarge questions. “‘Cause quite honestly, it’s having the opposite effect.”

“It’s supposed to make you understand.” Locus hisses, the radio causing the words to come out static-y.

“You stay away from me and my men.” Wash narrows his eyes at Locus’ smooth helmet. He wanted to make it _painfully_ clear that he didn’t trust the mercenary, that he didn’t want anything to do with him, that he wanted him to leave _right fucking now._

“You still don’t understand.” Locus turns to Donut and hands him a small storage unit. “Your MANTIS-class military assault droid’s storage unit.”

“What about Lopez?” Donut takes the storage unit.

“Your other robot’s currently being repaired. You’ll be called when it’s complete.” And with that, Locus left as quickly as he came in, the tension in the air slowly lifting the farther he got from the cramped room. And Dr. Grey took his place, coming over to Wash’s bed and taking him off the machine, then undoing the handcuffs. As soon as his left arm was freed, he pulled the thin sheet up to cover himself a bit more.

“Sorry about that,” Grey said as she moved to free his right arm. “I promise the rest of us aren’t like him. Come by my office tomorrow morning for a check-up, Agent Washington. 0800.” And she left the room as well. Wash rubbed his wrists; the cuffs had dug deeply into his skin, leaving bright red marks, They’d probably bruise. Wash looked to Sarge and Donut. Sarge’s expression was hidden behind his helmet, but Donut had a look of concern on his face.

“...Well, what d’ya fellas think?” Sarge asks, looking between him and Donut.

“I think she’s… nice?” Donut seemed hesitant to answer.

“Not the Doc, Donut, the army! The General! The whole deal-io!” Wait, they met the General while he was unconscious? Well, of course, how else would they have gotten their armor? “Grif and Simmons are out there with the Blues! Probably eating, and complaining, and back-talking! God damn it, Grif, just shut up already!”

“We do what we have to do, and go along with it for now.” Wash picked up his suit from the table by his bed, careful not to expose himself by keeping the sheet close to him. There had been a few more tears in the already-worn suit, and a dark red stain that blended in with most of the suit, but stuck out on the yellow edges. He would wait for Sarge and Donut to leave before putting it on again- he couldn’t wash it, so he’d just have to smell like blood for a while. “I just hope the others aren’t in too deep without us.”

“We think they’re alive,” Donut tried to reassure him. “The New Republic wanted us to help them fight, so it wouldn’t make sense for them to kill them.” Sarge simply grunted and turned to the exit, Donut giving Wash a look of… something, but Wash knew it was meant to reassure him, as the pink soldier left his armor on the stand next to his bed and followed after Sarge.

So Wash got up. His muscles ached, but he ignored the pain as he slipped into his suit. He eyed the armor plating for a moment before putting it on, when he realized it had been cleaned. There were blood stains on it that had come from his coughing fits that seemed impossible to get out, however no trace of them had been left behind. Besides the chips in the paint and dents in the armor, it looked brand-new. Damn.

Wash put his helmet on with reluctance. The visor had been replaced, he could tell due to the much less subtle tint of orange. Something must have happened with the old one, because there was nothing wrong with it. And then he remembered his hallucination, his helmet discarded to the side with the visor smashed in. _Tucker._

He left the hospital room. Sarge and Donut had been waiting for him outside. He nodded at the two of them before getting up and heading to the mess hall. He wasn’t sure about the other two, but it’s been a while since he’d eaten.

* * *

_Why the fuck can you hear crickets?_

Wash layed out-of-armor on his cot, his helmet still on. His armor had been discarded in a haphazardly pile next to it. The three of them had been given a room to share, the only things inside of it being three cots and two desks. Hell, the canyon had been more welcoming than this, but he wasn’t about to complain. They could have been left in the cell, handcuffed to the wall and forced to sleep upright. Or they could have been killed. The tiny cots were preferable to either of those options.

And Wash could hear crickets. The only way that would be possible is if they’d somehow gotten into the base, which he highly doubted. No, not even highly doubted, he just didn’t believe that. _Or he could be hallucinating again._

Sarge had insisted on taking the cot closest to the door, citing that he slept with his shotgun loaded and could take out anyone who tried to sneak in, despite the weapon’s short range. Wash reluctantly agreed to let him take it, though he knew the sergeant would have taken it whether he approved or not. Donut was unconscious on the middle cot, and Wash had the cot closest to the desks.

Wash listened to the other’s breathing. Donut’s breathing was slow and content, while Sarge’s was rushed and raspy. He guessed Sarge wasn’t asleep just yet. And then he listened to his own breathing, quick and shallow due to his silent panicking. His heart thumped in his ears, his fingers twitching at his sides.

He went to his messages. Nothing new, of course. He would have checked as soon as he got it, if there was anything new. Contact was hopeless, he knew already, but he couldn’t stop himself from staring at his message history with Tucker.

_caboose set the kitchen on fire again_

_Weren’t you supposed to be watching him?_

_i was_

_i turn my back for two goddamn seconds and everything’s on fire_

_I’ll be over there in a minute._

Wash wished the last text conversation they shared was anything else. Thankfully It wasn’t one of their many arguments, but it wasn’t anything meaningful either. And Wash wishes more that he’d be able to call him, scream at him about how worried he is and ask if he’s okay. But he won’t even try it, not because he knows it’s hopeless but because he’s scared nobody will pick up. And then he gets mad at himself for worrying about Tucker more than the others.

He has no idea how long they’ll be here. No idea how long it’ll be until they find the others. Until they find Tucker. It could be fucking years. He’ll be dead by then because of his scientifically impossible disease. God, how he wished their last conversation had been something to care about. The last time they actually spoke was about his wet dream. Of the aqua soldier. And then they were separated. The desperation in Tucker’s voice as he yelled for him. It rang in his ears.

Wash gets up. The cot creaks slightly. There’s a small hitch in Donut’s breathing, but the pink sim trooper remains unconscious. Sarge gives him a questioning look, a look that’s no longer visible as he takes off his helmet and leaves it on the cot. He quickly throws on his boots, careful not to make much noise and wake Donut, and heads out, not looking back at Sarge. Sarge hadn’t said anything. He must not have cared enough.

The halls. The halls were, surprising to no one, dark and lifeless. Despite this, Wash could swear he was being watched, and not just because of the cameras in the facility. It was something else, something more… powerful, maybe. Like it was focused on him, and only him specifically rather than watching everything going on in the hallways. But every time he turned around, there was no change to the lifelessness in the base. Wash suddenly wishes he had put his armor on before leaving their shared quarters.

The air’s suddenly too thick as Wash stands in front of Grey's office door. From what he can tell through the cracks, the lights are still one; she must be doing some paperwork or something. He ponders whether or not he should knock, he could probably save himself so much trouble if he just kept his hands to his sides and turned away, heading back to Sarge and Donut. But on the other hand, he’s painfully aware of how much he _needs_ this, of how fucked he is if he doesn’t get this. So, with reluctance, he knocks on the door. His knuckles actually hit the door twice, though he intended to knock three times, when the door flew open.

“Agent Washington!” Grey said in that disturbingly cheery voice. “What do you need this late at night?”

Wash closed his eyes. He didn’t want to do this. But he had to. Not for him, for his team. He can’t just leave them. With a sharp inhale, he opens his eyes again to meet the glistening eyes of Grey, who’s expression hasn’t changed since the moment they first met.

“Dr. Grey,” Wash looked her dead in the eye. “Could we make an arrangement for that surgery you mentioned?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey so it's currently 2 am as im publishing this, i'll reread everything in a few hours but i wanted to get this out asap so i could start getting into the juicier parts of this fic (seriously, the next chapter[s] will be... interesting to say the least).


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